Saturday Night Poetry: Falling

SlidingPastVertical300When I’m jittery and the words pile up in my head, sometimes I need a little focus. A little prompt. A little card from the magic box of possibilities. I have such a box, which I bought a long time ago from a woman at a writers conference. Sometimes I pluck a card and it speaks to me. This one spoke to me today. Probably because I’ve been staring at this book cover for the last week or so. Today’s prompt is: “As quickly as you can, make a list beginning with the line I remember falling…

Step off the ledge with me? I can’t promise it will all be good, because I don’t dare call myself a poet, but you might like the way the wind rushes through your hair. Continue reading

A Sort-of Poem

I’m not a poet. Don’t worry; I won’t do this to you that often. Just a few Saturday-night thoughts on a Sunday.


Walt Disney’s Legacy

Prince Charming isn’t coming.
He got lost trying to find the bus schedule and landed in a strip joint in Newark.
He saw something shiny in a store window and what’s twenty bucks, anyway?

Prince Charming isn’t coming.
He had to tie his shoelaces and got distracted by a crack in the sidewalk.
He’s rescuing a kitten planted in a tree by the Wicked Witch of the West.

Prince Charming isn’t coming.
He tried to see how many Oreos he could fit in his mouth and then he needed a Heimlich.
He’s in the back row at the multiplex, eating red vines and considering Botox.

Prince Charming isn’t coming.
He’s doing the nasty with Goldilocks but thinking about Sleeping Beauty.
He’s trading your phone number for magic beans and a player to be named later.

Prince Charming isn’t coming.
He’s playing foosball with his old college friends for beers and bragging rights.
He’s stuck in traffic and searching the net for that girl he knew in Memphis.

Prince Charming isn’t coming.

Football Haiku

For a moment put aside the extracurriculars of professional football-the money, the smack talk, the police records of prominent players-and just watch the athletes. Watch a play set in motion, the choreography of who runs where, the focus, grace, and power of a superstar receiver as he pulls an impossible pass out of mid-air, hugs to his chest and fends off would-be tacklers. I am not the first to recognize the poetry, nor am I the first to put it in haiku form. Heck, it’s fun to write about play off the field, too. Enjoy.

Polamalu’s hair,
insured for a cool million,
sells dandruff shampoo.

Ben Roethlisberger
tested team’s code of conduct.
His word against hers.

Is that a gun in
Plaxico’s sweatpants or is
he glad to see me?

Retire at your peak,
some say, to preserve legend.
Brett Favre should have listened.

Men in spandex pants
bent over before the snap.
No close-ups, thank you.

Bieber and Ozzy
to star in Superbowl ad,
in Tron costumes. Ecchh.

Pressure Tom Brady
and the Patriots will fall
just like the redcoats.

Coach Jimmie Johnson
silver hair, saggy man boobs
kicked off Survivor

Rex Ryan can fit
several feet in his mouth.
Kink, or weight loss plan?

Care to indulge in a bit of word play and write your own? Let’s hear it!